In Dreams
by Magic Crafter
Summary: Anne forces Henry to learn new tricks for his old game of cat-and-mouse. Serious AU. Discontinued.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the show or the characters…and nobody owns history!

**A/N:** I thought the first chapter was alright, so I just scanned it and revised a little bit. The ending is different, thought! Also, I'm still looking around for a Beta. If you're interested, please let me know - and please vote in the poll on my profile page! Make sure to R&R. Thanks!

* * *

I stare down at the infant in my arms; the moment is surreal. All the pain has gone. My head has ceased to ache. My cheeks are now dry. My throat no longer aches from my screams and my sobs. This baby's blessed weight in my arms is all I can feel: a part of me, a part of my love… The thought brings a well of tears to my eyes. All those long months have yielded a heady reward, one that has made my breath catch in my throat. As my little angel's cries quiet, I can hear naught but those words in my mind: "A boy, Your Majesty. A prince. A prince for England."

Her voice had barely been a whisper, and yet now it is ringing within my ears as though she had shouted it. A tuft of dark hair on his head, and his eyes are identical to his father's: big and pure, bright blue. _A boy. A boy. My triumph and my duty as queen…_

The doors are suddenly thrown open – the surrealism fades a bit, because there is another voice invading the solace of the birthing chamber. My daughter's. She is just now old enough to walk steadily, and now she is running. Running and scrambling to my side, trying to climb onto the bed. I want to tell her not to wake the baby, not to dirty her gown, because the bed is surely filthy from my ordeal. The words die in my throat.

_A boy._

"Mama, Mama!" Elizabeth is squealing. "Is that my baby brother?"

I rip my gaze from the perfection of my little boy's face to study her for a brief moment. She is lovely, but her eyes are mine: darker blue than her new brother's, alive, mischievous, and now…full of childish excitement. And I feel like weeping, for though I love my Elizabeth desperately, more than anything in the world, how can I tell her this moment exceeds by far that of her birth? The ardor I had found for her had been similar, but marred by horror and desperation. Elizabeth was my failure.

"_Let me see him. Let me see the prince!"_

"_Your Majesty – you have given birth to a beautiful, healthy daughter."_

How I had wept – and no doubt the same could have been said for my husband. He already had a daughter, and no matter how healthy and beautiful and precious this princess was, had no need for another.

"Sweetheart, do not torment your poor mother!" Henry's jovial voice practically sings. I lift my eyes from my small child at the edge of my bed to my beloved, towering above her, laughter and tenderness in his eyes. He kneels down and hoists Elizabeth into his arms. He tickles her; she giggles madly and when he sets her down again, she scampers to the side of her governess, Lady Bryan, who leads her out of the chamber. I am grateful. Time shared alone is very little when you are the sovereigns of a nation. His voice has softened when he speaks to me. "Tormenting, she has received that from you, Anne."

Someone has told him. His entire manner makes it clear. Either that, or he is confident I have not disappointed him a second time, that I have made all of our efforts worthwhile. He sits beside me, reaches out and touches my damp brow. Smiles.

Then: "May I hold him?"

A flash of protectiveness overwhelms me; I hold my baby tightly against my breast for a moment until common sense prevails, and I hand him reluctantly to his father. Henry takes him as though he was made of glass and he might break. My heart swells with the love I feel for my husband, and then the new love I have for this tiny miracle in his arms. It is almost too much…I should sleep, but I find I am forcing myself to keep awake, to witness this long-awaited scene. This long-awaited child for whom we have weathered so much is finally here, and I still can scarcely believe it.

Suddenly I realize Henry is crying, kissing our newborn's silky cheeks – weeping with his joy. And it is my child in his arms, half of me and no other woman. Half of the woman England seems to hate so passionately, not of their sainted Catherine. Yet those thoughts fade quickly and do not seem to matter so much. This is not a political pawn, but my child, my own darling child.

When Henry speaks to me again, his voice is low and rough but affectionately so, almost as if he will begin to weep all over again. "Oh, Anne…you cannot know how happy you have made me. The happiest of men, sweetheart, the happiest." He pauses, trying to make sure his regal composure does not slip, though it so often has in the past, especially around me. "Have you considered…what shall we name him?"

We could, I suppose, name our baby Henry, after his father. Or Thomas, after _my _father. As distastefully as I think of him, Father has won me nearly all of what I call mine today. His ambition surpasses even my own, and his success comes from how little he cares for his children. We might name him George, for my brother – dearest George! – or Arthur, after Henry's. I do not fancy naming him Arthur, simply because I would think it in bad taste. My poor, dead brother-in-law, Catherine's husband, was neither strong nor noble, nor at all long-lived.

On this train of thought, I muse briefly about naming him Lancelot. It brings a bemused smile to my face, at least. So I settle again on my father's name, for it sounds more regal, and though there are Thomases aplenty (ill-fated ones at that) among my lord's court, I like it very much. It has stuck.

"Might we name him after my father, my love?" I inquire.

Henry pauses, stroking the sleeping babe's cheek. "Thomas," he says, and I know immediately by his tone and expression and that brilliant gleam in his blue eyes that he too is taken with it, that it is a name befitting his first trueborn son. "Yes, sweetheart, I think it will be a fine name…for a fine lad!"

Softly, he laughs, and I join in. _A fine lad he will be, if his parents and his sister are any indication,_ I tell myself, and why should I not believe it? For we have both worked long and hard for this little blessing. He has been in the world only a few short moments, yet the time before he was born already seems like a dark cave from which I have finally emerged. My place by Henry's side as queen and in his heart as his beloved, are secure.

A wave of relief sweeps over me, mingled with the exhaustion I have accumulated over the day. I can no longer fight to keep my eyes open. The last thing I see is my husband and our tiny son still in his arms. His voice is the last thing I hear, tremulous and thick with emotion: "Thank you, sweetheart. You are precious to me." Everything after that is black.

* * *

I woke, stunned, on a cold, hard mattress; it was not yet light outside. Surely I had not intended to sleep so long! I had truly slept the day away! Heedless to the bed itself, I pushed myself up, peering around in the darkness. Something about it felt oppressive and confining, inescapable…as if that darkness would consume me for more than a few moments. My eyes would not adjust. "Henry?" I whispered, knowing at once he was not there and wishing he was. No indeed, I had not intended to sleep for as long as I had! _How long have I been dreaming? Where is my son? I must see my son!_

When I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I heard a woman grunt and withdrew them quickly. Some assassin, seeking to murder me in childbed? Horror gripped my heart. _Be gone, demon of the night!_ And at the same time, I made myself inhale deeply, for what childish fear was that? It was likely a vigilant lady of mine. And I did not _feel_ as though I had just been in labor…

"Lady Anne! You are awake!" A soft, frightened voice squeaked through the shadows.

My anger built. _Lady _Anne? I was no common lady, I was her queen! That oppressiveness built as well, however; I said nothing in reprimand. The woman shuffled out and returned a moment afterward with a candle; I had to squint, but then I gasped. There was little, if anything, to see; a few chairs, a sparse bed frame, bare walls, tiny windows…

_Henry! Henry, what jest is this? Oh, God!_ This last thought, on the coattails of realization… That happy weight in my arms I could still feel; the soft black down and sweet baby-smell…they were all still there, lingering with me. Had none of it been real? _Oh God, oh Jesu! Where is my baby? Where is my son?_

Any sons I had had by Henry were gone, miscarried, and I knew it…all the same, my desperation shortened my breath and soured my stomach. The need to cradle Prince Thomas, though he was not alive at all, in my arms overwhelmed me. I heard Henry praising me and thanking me. Was _none_ of my vivid memory true? Could it be so vain a hope? Tears stung hot and sharp in my eyes. The waiting woman still stood there, watching me apprehensively.

_Henry…_

Henry, my accuser, my murderer. My husband. My beloved. My king. Was he to be all of these things? I trembled when I finally stood. No wonder it was still so dark. _I am to die at dawn. So short a time…_

My knees abandoned me, and I sunk to the unforgiving stone floor as suddenly as I had risen to my feet. I truly sobbed, my arms wrapped around myself, seeking comfort that could not come. _George…my dearest brother George is dead, and now I am to die, and what shall then be my fate?_ MayhapHeaven, I hoped. Or something darker?

My brother faded from my mind in that instant, replaced by a far more bittersweet image: that of my two-year-old daughter, my darling Elizabeth. What was _her_ fate? He had declared our marriage null and void – a charge I would never accept – and therefore lowered her to the status of a royal bastard. The beautiful child, the product of our love, a bastard! Base-born! No…Elizabeth would not fail me. She _would_ be Queen_._

I felt absurdly like Catherine, swearing vengeance on my husband (but most of all, on Lady Jane Seymour) through my child…but my Elizabeth was no Mary. She would be England's greatest Queen, for how else could I bear to think of her? _You, Elizabeth, are my baby, you and none other. You are my own heart. Never feel inferior because you were not your dreamt-of brother._

"My lady! My lady Anne!"

Panic overcame me utterly. "Please…please save me," I whispered, and then wrapped my arms around the frantic, kneeling woman, not caring who she was…if I even knew. "Do not let me die! _I do not wish to die!_ I have…my daughter and my husband…the king…"

_Oh, God…_

She could not console me, did not try; instead, she hurriedly roused the other ladies, who in turn began scampering around, finding the gown I had already chosen to die in, seeking the pearls to fasten around my pale throat. _At least,_ I echoed my own words in my head, _I have a little neck!_ But the sentiment struck me as humorless this morning, as the light began to flood in from the tower's window. And who did I think of as they dressed me in my silk and pearls? Not Elizabeth or George, not Henry, not my sister Mary or even my parents. _Lady Jane._ The name left a foul taste in my mouth. Pallid, meek, invisible Lady Jane who was apparently not so invisible to my husband.

Was this how Catherine felt? I wondered.

Jane's long, plain features and dull blue eyes proved unable to hold my attention for too great a time, however. As the minutes ticked away, as I waited there in that cold, dank room – waiting to meet my maker, or more immediately, my executioner – I closed my eyes and thought of Henry.

"_The happiest of men, sweetheart."_ My dream Henry was so real I could nearly touch him. _"A fine lad..."_

My head jerked up; footsteps resounded in the stairwell near my door. My ladies stiffened in horror-struck anticipation. I could feel my pulse speed up exponentially…would I faint? Would I force them to revive me, simply so I could wake, and then die? Or would they simply carry me to the scaffold and to the block? Perhaps I would not wake again, unless it was to find myself in a more lovely and just world. George would wait with open arms for me…

"No, no, not yet," I murmured, squeezed my eyes shut while the door opened. I could vaguely hear Master Kingston; I could picture the concern on his face. "Madam…madam, the time draws near…"

"_Mama, Mama!"_

_I laugh and swing my Elizabeth into my arms. She is heavy now, going on five, beautiful as ever…beautiful as her father, with a full head of blonde hair – where she gets it, I cannot imagine! Her eyes are still as intense as mine, glowing with joy. _

"_Happy Christmas, Mama! Have we any presents? And the dancing – and the masques, Mama, I love the masques best of all!" My daughter lists off all her favorite things about the Christmas court with a flourish, and soon her cheeks glow as eagerly as her eyes._

"_Yes, my darling. Masques with dancing –," I begin._

_She gasps in delight, hooks her little arms around my neck tightly. "Mama, will you dance with Papa? You always dance so _wonderfully_! You must dance with Papa!"_

Henry…

"_We will dance as often as our old, tired feet will allow us, Elizabeth," I promise. I love this child who is so like and yet unlike myself. I love her more than I think I can bear. Elizabeth is the greatest gift I think Henry may ever give me – sweeter than my crown, dearer to me than any gems._

_I hear laughter at this from the doorway and turn abruptly. Elizabeth squirms down from my arms to see…but we both know. There stands my handsome husband; he is tall and slender as ever, a neat little beard trimming his strong jaw, his black hair shining almost blue, which floods his eyes with color. I love him dearly, too; I love him so much it is difficult to breathe whenever I first see him. "Sweetheart, do not listen to your mother, for I shall never be old!" he proclaims, and I believe him._

_Henry crosses the threshold, eyes only for Elizabeth. He is her Papa, she is his darling princess, and for a brief moment I feel envious of how he pulls her into a strong embrace. And then, in toddles my other heart's delight, who I love even more than Henry, more than Elizabeth. More than life itself. For he, as surely as the Lord Jesus, is my savior…at least my earthly one._

"_Mama!" His nursemaid is hot on his heels. I care little for anyone else at this moment and am eager to hurry to his side, tossing him up in the air and catching him securely in my arms. I cover his face with kisses. He giggles contentedly, snuggling against me. Henry gazes now on the two of us, quite the pair with our flushed faces and bright eyes._

"_How fare thee, Tommy?" My son is my triumph, to be sure, in more ways than only his gender. He is all any woman – or man – ever hoped for in a child...he outshines even his brilliant sister._

_Thomas is distracted before he can answer; his sister is sniggering. He sees her and delights, and I am not strong enough to still him, so I let him down. Likewise with my husband. "Lisbeth!" he cries. My heart might break with the tenderness of this moment._

_I lift my head to observe if Henry feels the same, yet Henry has gone from the place where he stood. I wonder for a moment where he could be, until I feel his strong arms close round my waist. He is always the romantic, my husband…and always using his irresistible charm to his best advantage. I smile. That same tenderness between Elizabeth – who holds her little brother in a sweet, loving embrace – and Thomas – who looks at her with his father's wide blue eyes as though she were Mary the mother of God – I find is present in this embrace, Henry's brow against mine. We watch these children of ours, Princess Bessy and Prince Tom, and wonder at our fight for their existence._

"_Never," Henry announces, "was one man thus blessed."_

_

* * *

_

"…did ever offend the King's Grace, surely with my death, I do now atone…"

The crowd gazed back at me with cold, unfeeling, jeering faces…faces of the curious – some had come to see the Queen (no, Queen no more, I thought bitterly, but only "the Lady Anne") die at the block. Faces of the enemies, those who came to laugh at my spilled life's blood. Faces, few faces, of my friends. Thomas Cranmer, one…_and my family? Father and my sister Mary?_

_Henry? _My tortured mind asked, and my eyes blurred with tears, though my voice did not falter.

_Will he watch me die, or is he far away, celebrating my downfall? Henry, my darling – where are you? Think you of me, this cursed day?_

"…pray for the life of the King, my sovereign lord and yours, who is one of the best princes on the face of the earth, who has always treated me so well that better could not be…"

I closed my eyes as the speech ended, as my ladies stepped forward. They removed my fur-trimmed cloak, but I forced my trembling hands to slip off my pearls, lamenting their loss, and unfasten my earrings. _Oh, please, God…_ They covered my hair for the final time with a simple white cap, and I sank to my knees, more terrified than I had ever been in my life. Yet my face, I knew, held no emotion at all – I could feel it. What would men say of me in the future, that I died with the dignity and grace of a Queen? If they would pay me that much respect, if they would at least leave that much untarnished for my little daughter, I would be grateful.

Though I now gazed once more on the crowd, some of them jeering openly, my mind was carried away again. Was it my body's way of protecting me, I wondered, from the horror of knowing my fate? If so, I hoped to die that way, with this handsome little Prince in my view, though he would never now become a reality.

_I see the love burning behind those eyes, clear and blue and so sincere. The passion and lust and respect all mingled into one…into the very soul of the man I find myself the wife of, and so luckily that! "You do me too much credit, my lord. How can you look upon me as the blessing, when it is so obvious to me that _I _am blessed to have won _your_ love…although I fear now, I could not relinquish it to another, not even if God's angels proclaimed it His will."_

_He laughs heartily at this, spins me around. His rough fingers tilt my chin up, pleasantly scoring the ivory skin beneath. "You flatter me, sweetheart." And now he kisses me._

_My heart flutters in my breast as it always does…for once, I cannot close my eyes and lose sight of him. My husband is far too dear. Somewhere, I fear this perfection might crash down around me and what would I do then? "Flattery is often lying, Henry…I would never presume so far!" We laugh together…_

"The King! Make way for the King!"

I jerked my head up, away from the glinting gold straw spread across the hastily-built wooden scaffold to sop up my scarlet blood. _What trickery is this?_ Surely Henry would not be so cruel as to come and gloat, to joyously watch my death perhaps with that mouse Jane Seymour on his arm! And yet everything, every noise, ceased, and the swordsman from Calais appeared stunned and silent as anyone. All dropped to their knees then, commoner and noble alike, as my husband strode onto Tower Green, magnificent as ever. How he did lord over all others! And it did not go unnoticed by _me _that Henry paid none of them any mind, his beautiful face stern, walking towards – towards the _scaffold_!

My breath caught, and I held it, fearing the worst. _Henry will take up the sword and kill me himself…_

**TBC**


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: **Sorry for the confusion about why this chapter was taken back down so suddenly. I've tried to fix all the glitches. And – while I do appreciate reviews very much – if you mention that I'm using poor grammar or need better plot or character development, please point out _what_ I need to work on or _where_ in the story it might be. It's easy for me to miss mistakes in my own writing. =] Thanks a lot. 

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything, Showtime does, and I'm not making any money off of this.

* * *

Mine was not the only shocked face. The mass of people who had come to witness the death of an anointed Queen of England had suddenly transformed into a gaping, wide-eyed lot. Anxious whispers broke out as Henry reached the scaffold. His eyes remained firmly planted on me and his boots thumped loudly against the wooden steps. My heart beat near to bursting as he approached, slowly but purposefully. By now I could see the sunlight flashing in his brilliantly blue eyes. Once they had been soft with tenderness and hot with passion when Henry looked at me, but they'd blazed with anger. I scrambled to my feet.

Things would have been so much easier if Henry had stayed away. Why was he not at Whitehall, with his simpering little bride-to-be?

Henry's desire to make a scene would have surprised me little if the situation had been different. But since he wanted me dead, I couldn't fathom his reasoning for flaunting his presence at my execution so publicly. _My execution._ Fear redoubled within me, and I stumbled away with ill grace. Was he going to stand there and _watch? _Was he going to make sure the blade sliced through my neck? Yes, my death would make him an undeniably free man again. But – surely – he would not take pleasure in it.

He stopped several paces from me. We stared at one another for a long time. I tried to meet his gaze with my accustomed hauteur, but in reality, I'd have preferred not to look at him at all. Had he come to gloat? Did he want to apologize? I smiled sardonically despite myself. Henry, apologize? Besides, it was too late for that. How could he apologize for ordering my execution?

Whatever he had come to do, I doubted it could not be accomplished by his lingering mutely on the scaffold.

Henry took another step. And then another. With difficulty, I stilled my feet, trying to remind myself to act as a queen ought to despite the fact that the annulment of our marriage meant that I was no longer the Queen.

"Your services will not be required," he said shortly. "You may keep your pay."

Looking stunned, the hooded man knelt to retrieve his sword from beneath a pile of straw. I felt ill, turning my head away from the bright, glinting metal which, without Henry's intervention, would have brought about my death . He sheathed it and bowed deeply to Henry, muttering, "Your Majesty."

As the swordsman vanished into the crowd, my dread began to subside. Henry had not come to punish me by his own hand. He had done the unthinkable, and overturned the trumped-up charges of adultery and treason with a few short words.

Numbness slithered through my veins unpleasantly. Fear and dismay were replaced by astonishment and disbelief. By nothing and everything. My brain whirled with unanswerable questions. Now that it appeared I would not die that day, I hated Henry with a startling ferocity that made me want to lunge at him and claw at his face and chest. At the same time, I desired nothing more than to kneel before him and weep, demanding to know why he would do such a horrible thing. On top of it all, I was grateful for my petrified state. I could be as impulsive as Henry, but now would be an inconvenient time to let loose my temper.

It must have been an eternity before I turned reluctantly towards Henry again. His eyes bored holes into me, and it took all my willpower to keep my gaze steady. When would he speak? Surely he had not planned to leave without explanation. Yet if Henry's throat was as dry as my own, he would find it difficult if not impossible to speak. I vividly recalled the last time we'd seen each other. By then, I'd had the terrifying revelation that my situation was far from secure and that Henry would not defend me now.

_The air was cool and damp, the earth soft. The toddler on my hip weighed me down as I attempted to run after my skulking husband. I had brought Elizabeth with me as a last-ditch attempt to appeal to Henry's better nature. He may have fallen out of love with me, but I knew he still had love in his heart for our daughter. It was my last hope – whatever affection he felt for her would be my sole saving grace. While despised myself for using Elizabeth in such a way, desperation had driven me to a length I'd never before thought possible. "Henry…"_

_Elizabeth watched curiously as Henry increased his pace, hurrying in the other direction, obviously hoping to avoid a confrontation. "Henry, please," I pleaded, hoisting my daughter up and following after him. "For the love you bear our child! For the love of Elizabeth –"_

_His words cut across mine, accusing me of lying to him. And then he rounded on us, despite my anguished protest – no, never, I had never once lied to Henry! – jabbing his finger in my face. I froze, gazing at him disbelievingly. "You were not a virgin when you married me. You are not what you seem!" he spat. _

_My mind reeled. Where had Henry come up with such ridiculous accusations? He, of all people, would know that I was a virgin! I had waited for as long as any woman could possibly wait. I had sacrificed other, unmarried suitors – I had sacrificed a happy and peaceful life because my father, more ambitious than I could ever have hoped to be, had driven me to it. But the fault was not all my father's. Some belonged to me. I had never intended to fall in love with the King, but I had done just that – and I had loved Henry so blindly that I had fought for him until I had driven a long-suffering woman to poverty and death. And for what? I had thought I could change Henry, but he had not changed at all._

_But what he said next… "Your father and your brother arranged everything." Henry's disgust was evident, as well it should be. To some extent, _that_ much was true. Not true enough to cause Henry to disown me!_

_Breathless and desperate, I rushed after him to protest. "No! I loved you! I loved you – "I wrapped my fingers around his collar, praying that the truth of my words might shine in my eyes. That he might believe me, and forgive me of these imagined wrongs. "And I love you still!" Our faces were so close…in happier times, I might have kissed him. For one instant, I believed _he_ might kiss _me_…_

"Anne?" Henry's familiar voice replied, but the tone was startlingly different than the last time he'd spoken to me.

I swallowed with difficulty. "Your Majesty?"

His face fell in obvious disappointment. What else he could have hoped for, given our rocky relationship over the past months, given that he had locked me in the Tower and executed my brother and four other innocent men on false charges…and given the many other wrongs Henry had committed against me? The formality of my greeting did not deter him completely, however. "Anne, Cromwell has told me that…that these charges against you are false. That he fabricated them in order to turn me against you."

_Oh, this fool I love! _I thought scathingly. Had he truly convinced himself that Cromwell was entirely at fault here? As much as I detested Thomas Cromwell, the man was very much a pawn, doing Henry's bidding lest he meet a similar fate as those who crossed the king. Of course Cromwell had tried to blacken my name…but because he'd known Henry wished to be rid of me completely. In order to marry Jane Seymour and produce his longed-for son (a son I felt certain I could have given him, had I not caught him with women on his knee while I was with child), Henry would have to be unquestionably free of me. And yet the blame would now rest with Cromwell.

Henry frowned. I pursed my lips. "Master Cromwell's conscience plagued him into admitting this to you, Your Majesty? After his lies have executed four men? Then I am most grateful to him." I made no attempt to disguise my scorn.

A muscle was working in Henry's jaw. He obviously feared I would humiliate him in front of his people. "Master Cromwell will be punished for his presumption," he said tersely. Thinking Cromwell would meet his death the same way I might have hardly comforted me. That death would only equate to more blood on my hands. Still, I had come to realize, once and for all, that the king's will was not mine to question.

"If it pleases Your Majesty," I replied softly.

The attentive audience was still craning its neck, hoping to see or hear something that would explain this curious turn of events. Henry looked away into the sea of curious faces. I watched as his expression changed, remembering that he must explain to them as well. Pallor crept into his handsome face. Admitting a wrong was an affront to Henry's pride. "Hear you this! False charges have been brought against Lady Anne Boleyn, and against the four men accused alongside her. Those responsible will be met with just rewards. But there will be no execution today. You may all return to your homes!"

It was impossible to tell whether the majority of the people were pleased or disappointed. I heard grumbling, but also saw angry glances being shot in our direction – whether meant for Henry or myself, I could not say. As they dispersed, something inside me snapped. I dropped to my knees again, landing hard against the rough-hewn beams. I sobbed, harsh, wracking sobs thinking my brother, and those other blameless men…of Mark, poor Mark!

At first I thought one of my ladies was beside me, but instead it was Henry. He draped my cloak about my shoulders and put an arm around me as though to comfort me. His hands were gentle.

"Come now, sweetheart," he breathed, close to my ear. "You are free of this place."

For a moment, I was tempted. I could let him help me to my feet. Together, we could walk away from Tower Green, as if none of this had ever happened… I shook myself violently free, staggering to my feet. Henry would have willingly let me die. Even now, he might have been feasting with the Seymours, toasting Lady Jane and her boot-licking family. The Howards and Boleyns may have been ambitious, but at least everyone knew they were. Who could think more highly of Sir John and his conniving, cold-hearted son, Edward than of my father and my darling brother George? Lady Jane was not so very different than I had once been, carefully molded by her father to achieve _his_ ultimate goal – favor with the king, riches and land beyond measure.

Not for one moment did I believe Jane loved Henry. Perhaps she'd fooled herself into thinking she did…any girl would. Mary, my poor cast-off sister, certainly had. Or perhaps Jane feared him, and her demure façade was her way of preserving her life and her position. Catherine of Aragon had known just as well as I how much of a mistake speaking out against Henry was.

Still on one knee, Henry gazed up at me. A look of confusion and hurt was swiftly replaced by a mask of serenity. Likely I was the only one to see the glint of anger in his eyes. Master Kingston steadied me, and my ladies rushed to my aid. _Bless them,_ I thought, _they are like mother hens!_ A brief feeling of genuine affection welled up inside of my chest. They would have seen me through to the grave, these women. They, at least, would have felt sorrow over my death…and to think, they had known me for only a short time.

Henry cleared his throat sharply. He was on his feet again. "Madame, when you are ready, the royal barge is waiting on the Thames to carry you and your women back to Whitehall."

I barely managed to dip him a steady curtsy. "Thank you, Your Majesty." My three ladies, their faces tearstained, ushered me down the scaffold steps, across Tower Green, and towards my suite of rooms. They were the very same that Henry and I had shared before my coronation. _Was that only three years ago?_ I marveled. _It feels as though it has been a lifetime._ We had nearly turned a corner when I dared to glance back at Henry. He remained alone on the scaffold, staring after my party. I could only guess at what he was thinking. Perhaps he regretted his actions and was already second-guessing himself.

Maybe, though, he was thinking, as I had thought, of all he had lost – all he had destroyed. And I found that I had both pity and scorn in my heart for this man, who had ruined so many lives, including his own. He had brought misery to so many, and I could not help but wonder if the most miserable of them all was Henry himself.

* * *

I eagerly discarded my execution gown. Though it had regal simplicity, I could not bear to return to Whitehall in clothing with such grim implications. Instead I donned the simple black dress I had worn the day I was arrested, though I few jewels to wear with it. My ladies promptly packed what few belongings of mine lay scattered about the room. The overwhelming urge to dash out of my prison proved difficult to suppress. Master Kingston, who had waited outside to escort us to the royal barge, graciously offered me his arm. By the time we reached the second crowd which awaited us, I found I desperately needed his support. My knees felt weak. Once upon a time, I would've chided myself for my fear. With the love of the king behind me, no one could touch me! But now – now I had neither the love of the people or of the king.

Kingston bowed and kissed my hand as we boarded the barge. "May the Lord keep you, Your Majesty."

I prayed that I would not begin to weep again. He had been so good to me. "And may He bless you, sir. Thank you for your kindness." Kingston smiled faintly and turned his back on me and my ladies. Despite the cries from the people on either bank, fear consumed me again. Somehow I doubted they supported me any more now than they had before. They simply supported what I symbolized: all the innocent people Henry had killed. And killed, I reminded myself critically, to marry me.

_And is it my fault Henry is a tyrant?_

Yes, it was…at least to some extent. I could have stopped it. I could have given into him or left him completely. Such an action would have required betraying my family's ambition (and my own) as well as my heart…but now, at the end of the road, it would have been the wiser choice.

As we floated listlessly down the Thames, I kept an eye out for Henry. The last thing I desired was a conversation with him. But my fears were unfounded. We did not meet again until the royal barge reached Whitehall. My ladies and I hurried ashore. They were not the sort of women usually installed to serve a queen – or even a former queen – but I knew they were too loyal to me to dismiss. I wanted them in charge of unpacking my things and reassembling the Queen's Chambers. The last time Henry had abandoned a wife all traces of her had been wiped out. While forcing himself to believe that I was an adulteress, Henry had almost certainly ordered the same thing done now.

More than anything, I wanted to see Elizabeth. Was she still at Whitehall? Or had Henry banished her, like he'd banished Mary, to some distant palace where she would not be heard of again? _My poor darling girl!_ It occurred to me that Catherine had fought so hard, not necessarily to save herself, but to save Mary. She had wanted her only child to still have a father, at least, in the man who'd abandoned her.

Frenzied whispers began to drift by as soon as we entered the palace. My three ladies shuffled silently behind me, their heads bowed. They certainly looked dismally out-of-place in the bright, festive court. I did my best to hold my head high, to ignore the gossip. The sooner I could sort out my household's affairs, the sooner I could be with Elizabeth. But as we turned a corner, fingers closed tightly about my wrist. Spinning around, I found myself face-to-face with Henry. His handsome brow was wrinkled in a contemplative expression, the corners of his mouth turned down. We stood frozen for a moment before I tried to jerk my arm away – to no avail. Henry shook his head sternly. I vaguely recalled when he'd come upon me in a corridor just as quiet and as empty as this one. Then, he had been infatuated by my wiles. Now, I did not even want to know what he wished of me. To speak with me, no doubt. What could he possibly say?

Unfortunately, Henry was still the king, and I could not disobey his orders – certainly not after he had so abruptly halted my execution. With the utmost reluctance, I lowered my chin in deference. A wave of Henry's hand sent my ladies scurrying away. The three of them exchanged apprehensive glances.

The feeling dissipated quite abruptly. Henry had led me into a deserted chamber. Dust caked the floor and windows, and the quivering sunlight which steamed in the dirty windowpanes illuminated the free-floating dust in the air. He did not let go of my arm automatically, quite clearly worried that I might flee. Even if I did, where would I go? This encounter was unavoidable. I could not avoid Henry forever any more than he could avoid me. So I may as well make it perfectly clear, now, that I had nothing whatsoever to say to him. None of his excuses would be good enough.

"Anne…oh, do not look at me that way," he began. His eyes flashed again. "Please allow me to apologize. I should never have believed such…such insubstantial evidence against you. I ought to have had more faith in you."

Did Henry think all would be well between us if he simply apologized and assured me of his renewed trust? Once upon a time, yes; we had been younger and very much in love. Now, Henry preferred women he considered sweeter and unspoiled. He wanted dreary and uneducated women like dull-eyed Jane Seymour over intelligent and spirited women like myself. He had given Catherine almost twenty years to produce a son, but refused to give me all of three.

"You should have considered that before you let my brother die, Your Majesty," I answered quietly. "You should have thought what price you were willing to pay for Lady Jane. At least you gave poor Catherine the benefit of slipping away in a moldering old castle. You locked me in the Tower and gave_ me_ the benefit of a French swordsman."

Henry had to work at keeping his temper in check for a moment before he spoke. When he did, his voice was still cautious and gentle. "I made a mistake, Anne. I've made…many mistakes. Lady Jane has returned to Wulfhall with her brothers and Sir John. I…I have considered the Seymours, sweetheart, and I think they are not so unlike your family, or any other family at court. Perhaps Sir John or his sons knew the truth…I will never know. But if they did, and said nothing, that is treason. Ambition can blind even the best of men. Sir John may have been using his daughters to advance himself." The unspoken accusation against my father rang in his words. It did not sting. At least Henry had finally seen that much: power-hungry men would use any tools at their disposal to secure the king's favor. My father and my uncle had done so; I understood Sir John's motives.

Tension buzzed around us in the musty air. I fervently hoped that Henry had nothing more to say. Outside of this room, Elizabeth was waiting. My little girl would be genuinely happy to see me. Henry looked torn between pain and regret. The pain I disdained, for Henry had brought it on himself. As for the regret – he should not have saved my life if he would have preferred a life with the mousy little Jane Seymour.

But Henry had something more to say. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly and rubbed his temple with his hand. "There is another…problem that I cannot yet resolve. You see, when… you were convicted of having betrayed me…Parliament declared our marriage declared invalid. Anne – sweetheart – they consider our marriage annulled. And Cromwell mentioned, too…that even if the charges against you had been true, if our marriage was invalid, the adultery and treason charges would have to be dropped."

Surely Henry knew that I had already been informed of this. The repetition only made the reality of it weigh more heavily on my mind and my heart. But there was nothing that could be done. Even if I had the will to fight him on this – if he had our marriage annulled, did I want to fight him? All it meant was that he would find another woman to bear him a son, be it Lady Jane or some other poor, ignorant girl. I wouldn't shed more tears over Henry. Not in front of him. I would take this blow, despite it being a blow to Elizabeth as well. When I had been in the Tower, I'd railed against the possibility of her being considered a bastard. Now…now, I thought it might be for the best. Henry's love was worth more than the slim possibility of the crown for a two-year-old, was it not?

He reached out for me. "Sweetheart. I will undo this. We shall renew our wedding vows in a grand ceremony. No one will doubt that you are still my queen. I cannot interfere with Parliament's ruling, but –"

Suddenly, my temper flared out of my control. The emotions I would not release as tears came out instead as fury. "No! How you _dare_, Henry! Do you really think – are you arrogant enough to think – that I can simply _forgive you?_ You killed my brother! You would have seen me dead so you could marry that _harlot_! And now you have bastardized Elizabeth! I will _never_ forgive you! Never! And I will not simply _re_marry you! You do not _love_ me, and you never have! Love is such a game for you, Henry…a game we have both tired of playing!" I clenched my hands into tight fists, trying desperately to lash out against him. "You say you cannot reverse Parliament's decision, but you were the one who goaded them into deciding that our marriage was invalid! You insisted they pass the Act of Succession! _You_ forced them to accept the Church of England!"

Henry released me as though he had been scalded. He stepped away. "For you! It was all for you, Anne! You teased and tortured me until I would do anything for you! And why? _Because I loved you!_ Because – damn it all, Anne, because I still do! You drive me mad, sometimes with love and sometimes with hate!" He swallowed hard. Maybe Henry really _had_ given some thought to all of this. It did not change anything. I was still insulted that he would have gone so far to annul our marriage and then claim he was powerless to reverse the annulment. "Please, sweetheart," he added, lowering his voice. "If you do not consent to simply remarrying me…then I shall do anything to win you back."

I wet my lips. My breathing was shallow and rattled within my chest. "You already know what to do, Henry. _Prove_ your love to me. Prove to me that, this time, I can trust you. I doubt that even you, the mighty King of England, can convince me of that now. But perhaps your words are true, Henry, and then you may do just that," I paused. And for a brief moment, I felt as if another Anne, a younger and more flirtatious, more playful Anne, was speaking the words: "_Seduce me._"

His blue eyes widened almost fearfully. He must have been seeing the Anne I felt like…remembering her. I dipped him a shallow curtsy before I fled the room. As I stormed out I wiped furiously at my eyes, determined to see my daughter without further interruptions.

* * *

The scene that met my eyes when I entered my daughter's chambers left me speechless. The good ladies who had attended me in the Tower were long gone, no doubt having found the Queen's Chambers by now. There was nothing left for them to do in my service. As far as the court was concerned, I was the Marquess of Pembroke. At least that wouldn't matter to Elizabeth. But her household was being packed. Her walls had been stripped. Now all the heads of her maids and menservants turned towards me. The faces were guilt-stricken, almost afraid. They probably feared I would lash out at them for events out of their control. If Henry had ordered Elizabeth's household to leave court, they could do nothing about it. And then, after long silence, they all dipped into curtsies and bows.

Lady Bryan stepped forward. "Please forgive me, madam…is it true what is said, that we must not move the Lady Elizabeth to Hatfield with all possible haste?"

_With all possible haste._ Somehow I found a smile for her. "It is, Lady Bryan. Thank you for your continued service. I trust you would have cared for her very well if…if circumstances had been different." She inclined her head. "Now I should like to see my daughter, Lady Bryan." I could not refer to my darling as "the Lady Elizabeth" – she was a princess, and always would be, in my mind. And if Henry meant what he said, that he would go to any lengths to win my love all over again, perhaps she would be a princess in name again.

_Even though he should simply give his word, and be a tyrant, for the sake of his child. God knows he's a tyrant for anything else he wants, _my mind railed. I shoved the thought aside, for I could not afford to say anything negative about Henry in my child's presence.

Before Lady Bryan could fetch her, Elizabeth bounded out of her bedchamber. Her dark eyes lit up, and my heart leapt. I had thought I would never see my little girl again, and here she was, so alive and in such high spirits. "Mama!" she squealed. All her two-year-old dignity was forgotten, and she rushed forward into my arms. I crushed her against me, showering her soft little cheeks with kisses. My eyes glazed over with tears, and I ran my hand over her short blonde hair, wondering how she'd been treated over the last few weeks, whether Henry had come to see her at all, and how much she'd been told about my fate. No one could keep it from her forever, what might have befallen me, though hopefully no one would be forced to explain _why_ just yet.

For the time being, I was content to be with her. We were together, if only for a short time. I knew all too well that I could not stay at Whitehall. Staying there would mark me as the dethroned queen, the deserted wife – no, I refused to accept the court's pity or their rumors. Besides, I wanted nothing more desperately than to escape the king himself. I had given him hope about winning me back, but I did not yet want to endure any pursuit he might begin.

So Elizabeth would go to Hatfield, and I – maybe I would return to Hever or perhaps live with my daughter and her household. My father had almost certainly fled back to Hever, so it was likely for the best that I stayed away.

"Mama, Muggie told me you were in a scary place. She said we couldn't visit you." She pouted, her eyes big and round – she had been worried about me! My daughter, who should have a carefree, comfortable childhood as the daughter of the King of England, had been wondering what kind of scary place I'd been confined to where she could not go. Given her fine little mind, she'd imagined frightening dragons and other childish fantasies…although I had to admit that I may have preferred the dangers of Elizabeth's make-believe world to the Tower.

Glancing around uneasily at the curious faces of Elizabeth's maids, I said as brightly as I could, "Lady Bryan was right, Elizabeth. You could not have come to see me. But I am here with you now. Why don't we take a walk in the gardens? You'd like that, wouldn't you, darling?" Even if I was not a queen, I had the right to dismiss her servants. My daughter bobbed her head up and down eagerly, and I carried her towards the door. Hopefully some time with her amongst the late-spring flowers would cheer me. We met no one in the corridors, for which I was grateful. I didn't think I could bear a confrontation, even a short, formal one. The courtiers were whispering about me, and they may well be whispering about Elizabeth as well. She did not need to hear that.

When we finally reached the sharp-edged hedges that bordered Whitehall's gardens, I set Elizabeth down. my arms ached from holding her. She was so heavy these days. I missed when she had been a baby – not only because Elizabeth had been so precious and tiny (though she was still the light of my life), but also because Henry and I had still been in love. At least, I had thought Henry still loved me a year and a half ago.

Elizabeth tugged at my sleeve. "Mama, why do I have to go to Hatfield?"

Startled out of my thoughts, I looked down at her. She wore such a sad expression. "Because Papa says you must." My little daughter would have to learn – as I had never done – to obey her father. It would not do for her to appear stubborn and defiant like the Lady Mary. "But maybe I can help. My darling, would you like Hatfield better if I went to live there with you for a while?" I knelt down to Elizabeth's level. My face remained somber, but hers changed immediately.

She beamed. "Oh, yes! But you live here with Papa."

A lump formed in my throat. I swallowed thickly. _Do not weep in front of Elizabeth,_ my mind reminded me sternly. _You must be strong, for her sake!_ As grateful as I was that no one had told her that Henry and I were no longer married, or that she was to have a new mother, I felt not telling her about what had become her father and I was lying. "I am sure Papa will understand, Elizabeth. I miss you when you are not at court. If I come to Hatfield, we can see each other every day." I reached forward and kissed her forehead. "And then I can spoil you properly!"

She wrapped her little arms around my neck. I hugged her tightly, too, for a few moments, before I lifted my hands and began to tickle her. She giggled and shied away from my touch. But soon we collapsed together onto the soft, sweet-smelling grass. My hair had slipped out of its bun and now hung in tangles around my face. Elizabeth's head rested against my shoulder. She was pointing out the shapes of the clouds in the bright heavens which stretched above us. I tried my hand at the game, but only half-heartedly. While my daughter told me I was silly for thinking the clouds were such strange animals or places or objects, my mind drifted.

And despite Elizabeth laughing sweetly beside me; despite the pleasantly scented air of the gardens, I could not keep from thinking that, if not for one miraculous stroke of luck, I would be dead instead of sitting in the warm spring sunshine with my daughter.

**TBC**

**R&R...give me your thoughts! 3**


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: **I apologize for the long wait. This chapter was written in about a week, but I just had to get the ideas out, so there are almost certainly imperfections--I find writing in Anne's POV incredibly challenging. Hopefully it satisfies! =]

_Please leave a review!_

* * *

**27 May  
****Hatfield House**

I woke to the sun pouring in my window, casting interesting little shadows across the bed and the wall beyond. My heart raced suddenly. I wanted nothing more than to turn away from the daylight—oh, cruel day, the last dawn my eyes would ever see!

Then I remembered, just as suddenly as the panic had risen in me, that I was safe. I was in a soft bed miles from London, where the servants bowed to be and addressed me as though I was still the Queen of England. I was in this beautiful household, sunny and cheery, a child's household—my daughter's. Remembering slowed my heart and eased my shallow breathing. It had been over a week since that terrible morning and still, I feared it. The pleasant dreams had vanished. They had helped me escape the reality of my fate in the Tower; at Hatfield, they had turned against me into viscous nightmares.

How long would it be until Henry gave up? I was fully expecting him to stop waiting for me. This time around, he was getting desperate: he may still claim to love me, but he needed his son. He may have been unable to bring himself to see me die, but I didn't expect him to suffer through my stubbornness. He hadn't written since I had been here. He hadn't dared ordered me back to Whitehall.

As if I'd have gone. As if Henry would truly try to drag me back when Elizabeth was watching.

"Mama, Mama!" My thoughts seemed to have conjured her, a loud voice and eager feet running along the corridor outside my suite of rooms. "Wake up Mama!"

I could hear Lady Bryan's frantic attempts to keep Elizabeth from bursting into the room. I tried to pull myself out of the panic-induced stupor; shouldn't I at least sit up for my little girl? Yet the door swung open and I lay as if I was dead—the thought made me shudder just slightly. "Mama," Elizabeth appealed again, clambering onto the bed and laying her little head against my arm. "Wake up," she insisted stubbornly, "you have to see the all the gifts!"

Finally, she shook me out of the paralysis. I rolled over and put my arms around her. She was already dressed, though she looked a little disheveled; I wondered if she hadn't already dragged Lady Bryan outside to play in the warm spring sunshine. And then I felt unbearably guilty: hadn't I promised to play with her, to keep her company every waking moment? I felt as though nothing else would get me through the day, knowing the husband who had supposedly loved me—moved heaven and earth for me!—would forsake me, even kill me. _George…_ The name tormented me and only Elizabeth's voice could drive it from my mind.

"Gifts, my darling?" I echoed. She snuggled into my embrace, suddenly not half as impatient or eager to show me whatever gifts were waiting outside my sunny bedchamber. "What kinds of gifts? It isn't your birthday yet!"

Elizabeth giggled. "They aren't all for me, Mama!"

My good mood dissolved as quickly as it had come. I knew instinctively who they must be from, if any had arrived for me. This time around, I would not be _bought_. Henry's idiocy had led to the death of my brother and other innocent men and would have left our daughter without a mother—jewels and gowns were not going to soften my heart any more than his empty apologies.

Reluctantly, I let go of Elizabeth and forced myself out of bed. One of her maids-of-honor was waiting to help me into my robe. No sooner had I tied the sash than Elizabeth seized my hand and marched me down the corridor into Hatfield's main entrance hall. At least twenty crates stood open there. Some of them glinted in the sunlight. Others, as I had expected, were overflowing with yards and yards of exquisite fabrics, as well as a few small gowns for Elizabeth. There were plenty of books, as though Henry feared I would find life without him and the court dull. And clutched in Lady Bryan's hand was a letter.

I frowned at all the finery around me. What was Henry trying to prove, that he would not let my diminished status affect my wardrobe? Perhaps he wanted to send me the things he would have otherwise lavished upon Jane Seymour.

With my daughter effectively distracted again, grabbing handfuls of pearls or silk—whatever she could get her tiny hands on—I took the letter silently from her governess. It was addressed simply enough: _Anne, Marquess of Pembroke_. The hand was familiar. A traitorous part of my mind rejoiced to see it, and I wished it could return us to the far happier days when love letters from Henry were a regular and dear part of my life.

_My love,_

_I have sent you your things from Whitehall, including the Queen's jewels which remain rightfully yours. I also include fabric for you and some of the new things you had made for Elizabeth, and a few volumes I think you will enjoy. I pray for your health and our child's, and continue to hope for your swift return._

It was signed, as always, "H. Rex" and I noted that he had wisely mentioned nothing of my forgiving him. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to cast his words into the hearth and watch the flames devour them. Instead, I laid it aside, watching Elizabeth seize one of the new gowns. She turned immediately to Lady Bryan for assistance.

"Mama can help you try your new things on," I offered quietly. She spun around, looking at me with an expression that said she had never even considered her mother filling such a role. Still hopeful, I held out my arms. She clutched the gown tightly and toddled to my side. It was light blue damask with gold trim—I had known she would love it, though she may never have received it had Henry not reprieved me. I fretted that it might not even fit her—I had ordered it months ago, and there was no denying that Elizabeth was a growing girl.

She and I went back to my bedchamber, where I slowly unlaced the back of her gown, thinking about how things would have gone for her. Jane Seymour would probably have been more than willing to forget or at least neglect my daughter. How could you befriend a child whose mother had been killed in order to assure your place on the throne? _But what mother would not do that for the sake of her own child? _My fingers stroked Elizabeth's hair. I had been cruel to Mary and I knew it, but I was willing to fight just as hard for her place as Katherine had for Mary's. I would condone nearly anything for her.

So why was I unwilling to remarry Henry and secure her place in the succession? My hands began to tremble slightly against the wrinkled fabric of my daughter's gown. I couldn't. I simply couldn't.

Being honest with myself, Henry frightened me. He had loved me so passionately once and turned on me so quickly.

Elizabeth stepped automatically out of her dress and held up the new one. I barely saw her, though I had longed to hold her little body in my arms ever moment I was in the Tower, for the fear that overwhelmed me. I was here with her, yet part of me was still in that cold stone prison, looking out over the scaffold they built for me.

"Mama?" Elizabeth's voice was very small, as though she could tell that not everything is as it should be. She stood there in her little shift, staring up at me with her big, innocent eyes, and for a fraction of a second terror washed over me—losing her would be unbearable. What if I never gave into Henry's wishes? Would he take her away from me? Leaning over, I gathered Elizabeth into my arms, lifting her up so that she sat on my lap. I pressed dozens of kisses into her hair. She must have been confused, but she allowed me to just hold her. I couldn't tell her what had happened to me, nor did I want her to know, but I couldn't simply go on with my life as though it had not happened.

She reached up and put her warm hand against my cheek. "Don't be sad, Mama," she whispered to me. I wondered how it had come to this, my child comforting me instead of the other way around.

"I'm not, Elizabeth," I promised her, mustering a smile. "I'm just so happy to be here with you. I missed you very badly while I was away." I didn't want to hint that I had feared I would never see her again. She would question me and demand an explanation I was not ready to give. I could only hope that she didn't ask me when Uncle George was coming to visit her—how could I tell her? "Come now, let's see if this fits you."

For the next half hour, we proceeded with the mindless activity of figuring out which things were too small and which things she loved. It was a half hour full of laughter and dancing and a few small tantrums. I found that I was almost grateful to Henry for granting me such a diversion before I remembered that it was his fault that I needed a diversion at all.

But when Lady Bryan came to fetch Elizabeth for her lessons—she was so young, I thought, to begin struggling with Latin and Greek!—I was left with nothing but my thoughts and a pile of discarded gowns.

**30 May**

_My love,_

_I hope you and our daughter fare well at Hatfield, and that Elizabeth enjoyed the book I sent her, though I know that she cannot yet read on her own. Court is lonely without either of you here. You should also know that the Duke of Suffolk and Master Cromwell have been punished accordingly for spreading their lies about your conduct. _

_Henry_

**2 June**

_My love,_

_Your sister Mary has requested that she and her children be allowed to visit you at Hatfield. She should arrive soon. I hope her presence will bring you the joy mine cannot._

_Henry_

I read the words several times. The letter itself was dated the twenty-ninth, and I couldn't help but wonder why Mary had not arrived yet. It was true that I had never been as close to her as I was to George—_oh George! _my heart cried miserably—but she was all I had left besides Elizabeth. Everyone else seemed to have abandoned me, including our father, at the time of my arrest. I had not asked any of my ladies to accompany me and wondered if even my most loyal like Nan would have followed if I had. I had practically sent myself into exile. How could I expect them to follow?

Elizabeth stood staring out the window for any sign of a visitor. She could not remember her aunt but as soon as I told her that Mary had held her at her christening, she decided that she adored her.

"Tell me again what my cousins' names are," she demanded, looking away from the window for a moment.

I sighed and set aside the letter. "She has two daughters and a son," I repeated for what must have been the fourth time that morning. "Catherine and—"

"And Anne and Henry!" Elizabeth finished eagerly. "For you and Papa."

I forced myself to smile. Mary's first children had been born before I had become queen, and as it was considered respectful for courtiers to name their children after the reigning monarchs, her first daughter had been christened Catherine. I was beginning to wonder—no, I had wondered for months now—if Henry's long fight to make me his wife had been worth it. _Of course it was worth it, _my mind reprimanded, _for otherwise you would not have Elizabeth! _These days, it was especially true, for I felt that Elizabeth was the only thing left in my life worth living for.

She would probably be disappointed when she realized that Mary could not possibly bring all three of her children to Hatfield with her. I started to tell her when she squealed in delight. "Mama, look!"

A very small carriage had stopped just in front of the front lane. Without waiting for me, she dashed from the room and into the entrance hall. I lingered there for a moment, watching my sister approach. All of this was our father's fault, I thought. Mary's affair with Henry was the reason our marriage was now annulled, though surely he would have found some other excuse if it meant being able to marry his precious Jane. I didn't blame her, however, especially now that our brother was dead. How could I be angry with her? She may have been made a laughingstock for obeying our father in the beginning, but now she was happy and in love, while I was miserable and lucky to be alive. How could I even blame my father, when it was ultimately me at fault? If I had kept my temper and turned a blind eye, both our boys might be alive today.

My eyes welled with unwelcome tears. I blinked them fiercely away and went to join Elizabeth, who was practically jumping up and down with anticipation. The great oak door swung open and revealed Mary and one tiny child. I was shocked.

The last time I had seen my sister, she had still been dressed in a few vestiges of finery. Now, she wore a plain homespun gown, not unflattering but worn. Her golden-brown hair fell loosely around her face, curling at the ends. She still glowed, I supposed with love, and I couldn't say I didn't envy her that. Her child was dressed just as plainly. She had dark hair and hid most of her face in Mary's shoulder. I supposed this was her daughter Anne, whom I had never met.

"Welcome to Hatfield, Aunt Mary!" Elizabeth exclaimed, grinning.

Mary curtsied as best she could. "Your–" I cut her off with the shake of my head, grateful Elizabeth could not see. Someone had probably already told her that she was no longer a princess, but I did not want to raise the subject if I could help it, because I could not promise her that her father and I would ever remarry and thus restore her legitimacy. "Well, then…thank you for the warm reception, little Elizabeth. I haven't seen you since you were just a baby." She beamed at Elizabeth and then at me, as if we could relive our memories of those light-hearted times simply through a glance.

She set her very reluctant daughter down at her feet. "Annie, don't be so silly. This is your cousin Elizabeth and your Aunt Anne. I have told you about them," Mary prompted gently, tousling Annie's hair. I had a feeling that my young niece was not always so shy.

Giving up on the hopeless cause, Mary clucked her tongue and opened her arms. I tried to keep my composure as I stepped around my daughter and leaned into her embrace. She rubbed my back gently and kissed my forehead. "I've missed you, Nan," she murmured. "I'm so glad that…" Her voice died, but I knew what she would have said: she was glad that I had not died two weeks ago, and that we could be reunited.

Ordinarily I was unwilling to let Elizabeth leave my side, but I was extremely grateful to see Lady Bryan appear in the hall. "My lady, it is time for your midday meal." She paused, looking pointedly at Annie. "Would you like your cousin to accompany us?" Elizabeth nodded eagerly. She wove her way between us and tapped Mary's little girl on the shoulder. After a few words had been exchanged between them, it was remarkable how quickly Annie overcame her bashfulness. She went off with her hand-in-hand, apparently content with the fact that her cousin, except for her status, was not really so different after all.

"You do not know how worried I was…we heard so many things—some people in our village said you were a witch, my darling, and that you deserved to die for…for what happened to Katherine, but most of them were simply horrified that the King would imprison his own wife!" Mary whispered as I led her back to my bedchamber. "One of our neighbors who knows I am your sister told me that she and her children and husband prayed for your soul every day. They may not love you, Nan, but they accept you…I am sure they will grow to love you!" She kept a tight hold on my hand. "Anne…" Her face was suddenly drawn, and her voice was barely audible. "Did he…did he die well?" Poor dear Mary! She had always been the odd one out when we were children, but she was nevertheless our sister and she loved him, too.

I could not find the words, but realized how desperately I needed a sympathetic ear. Not only to talk about George, but about all of it. My daughter eased my pain but I could not unburden myself to her. Mary, the other sister, the guiltless sister, was willing to share some of my guilt and a great deal of my grief.

"I—he did not seem to fight them," I told her, focusing on keeping my breathing even. "Mary, it was my fault. I killed him. If I had just listened…he told me…he told me I wasn't behaving like a queen should!"

How right he'd been. Though I had not actually betrayed Henry, my conduct had left enough to be desired for Cromwell and Brandon to invent a crime. I did indeed have many men in my rooms, and that was all they had needed. Of all people to pay the price, why George? Why my brother? Listening to his advice could have saved his life. I bit my lip hard enough to tear the skin. Mary's arm went around my shoulders. She pulled me to her, shushing me as she must her Annie. "I won't hear you talk such nonsense. George was innocent of everything—so were you." Her voice hardened. "Is it true that Jane testified against him?"

I wondered briefly how she'd heard about Lady Rochford's testimony until I remembered that she must have been to court if she had asked Henry to visit Hatfield. I nodded, scowling at the thought of our treacherous sister-in-law. "I do not think their marriage was happy, Mary, but how could she be so vindictive? Why did she hate him enough to want him—" My voice failed me, breaking off before I could say the dreaded word _dead_. Saying it made it true and irreversible.

Mary stroked my hair. "I don't know. How could anyone _hate_ George?"

Of all the marriages the Boleyn children had made, Mary's seemed to be the only fortunate ones. Father had naturally chosen spouses for his son and younger daughter that would prove fatal—or almost fatal. I could not imagine how Jane could live with herself, knowing what she'd taken from Mary and I. George's infectious personality and mischievous smile were extinguished now. He would never comfort me again. He would never meet Mary's adorable girl and would never take part in spoiling mine again. It was too much to grasp. My brother, dead. My best friend. My protector. No wonder they had accused us of such an unthinkable crime: I loved George more than I would ever love Henry, especially now.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart…now, why don't you tell me why you've hidden yourself away here in the countryside? I know my Anne isn't afraid of facing the people at court," Mary coaxed.

Afraid of breaking down for the first time since I left the tower, I was more than happy to change the subject. "I'm not afraid. Not of them." I watched her eyes widen with a harsh little laugh. "Yes, of the King. He asked me to remarry him…as though it was that simple!"

She made an appropriate sound of disbelief. I continued, "Yes…I told him that if he wanted me back, he would have to prove it to me. So far, I have only had a few note…and he sent all my jewels and gowns and things for Elizabeth. He says he misses me…" I swallowed hard. I didn't want to admit that, deep down, I missed Henry as well. I missed what we had been.

"You should not…necessarily…forgive him right away," Mary began hesitantly. She had had her heart broken by Henry once, too, though not nearly so badly. "But…Anne, you love him, I know you do. Don't throw it away. He saved you because he loves you, too. He is Elizabeth's father, too. Surely you can find some way to forgive him—eventually. But you will never know how sincere he is if you avoid him. He has wronged you, but if you believe in him, I think he may surprise you. Oh Anne, you should see him—he needs you, more than he ever realized before!"

I stared at her. Forgive him? Go back to him? How could I? _But how can I not? _Mary was right; I did love him, despite everything. "You are right Mary. Of course you are. He doesn't deserve a second chance, but I will give him one. For Elizabeth." I smiled wanly.

"For England."

**8 June**

_Your Majesty,_

_Thank you for your gracious gifts to myself and our daughter. We are both quite well. Elizabeth and her cousin are inseparable. I suggested that my sister let her remain here and take lessons with Elizabeth, but she says Annie is too young to be separated from her family. I hope it would it be possible to give Mary and her husband apartments at court—I should not have turned my back on her simply for falling in love._

_Though she always seems content here, Elizabeth misses you very much._

The ink blotted at the end of the sentence. I stared at the words, thinking that by writing them, I was betraying myself. How could I welcome Henry back into my life so soon? Still, telling him that our child pined for him was no lie. She had quickly overcome the unpleasant memory of Papa's anger, forgiven him, and recently begun to ask if he would come visit us. As ever, I could not bear to disappoint her.

_For her sake, might you come to Hatfield and put her mind at ease? She was thrilled to be so close to us while she stayed at Court._

I signed myself simply "Anne," sprinkled some sawdust on the ink, and folded it quickly so that I would not have to face the accusing words. If I read them even once or twice more, surely I would change my mind and not send the letter. Three more of Henry's notes had come, two in one day, practically begging me to break my silence. It had only been three weeks, but I had to admit that with my sister here, everything was more bearable. After we cried together the first night of her stay over George, I could think of him without feeling such debilitating pain. And while my life may never be the same without him, it would nevertheless go on, which he would surely have been relieved to know.

Henry's poor page, who looked so exhausted enough to fall asleep on his feet, had stayed the night at my insistence. He stood waiting in the entrance hall. Relief crossed his usually blank face for a moment as I swept out of my room brandishing the letter. "Please deliver this to His Majesty," I requested unnecessarily. The page bowed, turned on heel and vanished.

Elizabeth wandered out of the hall which had become a makeshift playroom for the cousins. Her shoulders were slightly slumped—for once she wasn't going about hand-in-hand with Annie. If ever there was a pair of troublemakers, I thought fondly, it was the two of them. They had become, as I had told Henry, the best of friends in only a few short days. Annie was much bolder now that she had an older and more important ally behind her and had taken to standing up to Lady Bryan when she tried to give Elizabeth her French, Latin and Greek lessons.

I was glad that we might have a few moments alone together. "I've got a wonderful surprise for you," I announced, watching a curious smile replace her lonely expression.

"Tell me!" Elizabeth ran to join me, holding up her arms. I obliged, lifting her up and cradling her against me. She would be too heavy for me to coddle her this way for much longer, and once I returned to court—not that I was in a particular hurry—I may not see her again for months. I wanted to savor what time we did have. Before my arrest, I had never believed she could be more precious to me. Now I was constantly reminded that she was the only thing that really mattered.

"I invited your papa to come visit us here."

She was far too delighted to recognize my lack of enthusiasm. "Papa's coming here!" she exclaimed. How long had it been since Henry's last visit to Hatfield? We had never come together except for when she was very small. "Mama, help me with my French! Yours is so pretty. I want him to be impressed."

It was not a request. Elizabeth didn't make them, if she could help it: she commanded people instead. Not for the first time, I thought about how fine of a Queen she would make if Henry and I did not eventually have a son. There was no reason she could not rule with just as much competence as any brother I bore her. "Of course I will help you, _mon coeur_," I agreed, kissing her cheek. Her brow furrowed for a moment as she tried to figure out my words. "Your what?" she finally asked with frustration.

"It means _my heart_. My own heart!" I swallowed hard. Even if I had died in May, something of me would have lived on. My Elizabeth would have lived. I knew she would make me proud. She already did.

**14 June**

Since I had sent the letter to Henry, every day felt like my mind waged a new battle against itself. I could not decide whether I dreaded his visit or looked forward to it. Had I done the right thing by Elizabeth or should I have been selfish for a few more weeks and kept her to myself? Hardly to myself, though—she was still always glad to see me, but the novelty appeared to be fading. She found her cousin much more interesting company now, though ever since I had revealed my surprise, Elizabeth talked of nothing but her father. She had taken to coaching Annie in curtsying, "because Papa is the King and we have to show respect."

However, ever since a messenger had come to Hatfield yesterday too announce that Henry would arrive soon, within a few days, Elizabeth had been running from Annie's side to the window every minute or so to see if she could spot him. I had thought she had been excited about Mary's arrival, but she was twice as restless now.

"My sweet," Mary cooed, "you mustn't be so impatient. Come away from the window for a while." She cast a sympathetic glance my way—I sat with my small namesake on my lap, trying hard to concentrate on embroidery, occasionally pausing and letting my niece examine it. I had decided to make it a handkerchief for her and had begun sewing her name in vivid pink. Her curiosity put me more at ease. "What's it say, Auntie?" she lisped. Even at two, she wore the honest, trustworthy expression so rare at court, so common elsewhere.

"Soon it will say 'Annie,'" I replied, smiling as she clapped her hands in delight.

With pride, she announced that "that's our name, Auntie!" I kissed the top of her dark hair and praised her for being such a smart girl. Mary was still trying to break Elizabeth's vigil. My efforts to amuse her daughter were proving much more successful than hers to amuse mine. Though she had lived in the sumptuous French court and the less elegant English one, Mary had the air of a plain country woman. I realized Elizabeth was rather high and mighty already with little interest in her aunt's simpler ways. I wished I could tell her that her aunt, though once called a whore and disdained by so many, was by far the happier of us. _Elizabeth,_ I longed to tell her, _Aunt Mary's neighbors love her. Your papa's courtiers hate me! _

Yet Elizabeth would never be a simple or plain girl. She would never marry as far beneath her as my sister had. Whatever she became, I knew she would not make my same mistakes—I would not let her—so perhaps her pride would not be as dangerous to her as mine had been to me.

"Bessie, Auntie's sewing me a kerchief!"

Her cousin's declaration finally distracted Elizabeth from the window. She skipped out of the entrance hall and away from Mary, stopping a few feet from us with her arms crossed. Her eyes accused me silently of neglecting her. Why else would I be stitching Annie's name into a handkerchief instead of hers? I patted the space next to us. "Don't worry, my love—I will make one for you as well," I promised her.

As if the words were magical, Elizabeth smirked and climbed up beside me. She leaned her head on my shoulder. I wrapped one protective arm around her, setting the embroidery to the side. "Mama, tell us a story," she implored.

I pressed my lips against her short hair. "I know you've heard of King Arthur," I began.

"King who?" Annie asked, frowning up at me.

Elizabeth was ready with the answer. "King _Arthur_, silly! My papa's brother was named after him. He was a hero! And his queen was almost as pretty as Mama."

The comparison to Guinevere, a Queen who had nearly been burned at the stake for adultery, was not one I relished. Still, I knew my daughter hadn't meant anything by her comment. "She's exaggerating, Annie. Arthur was born to King Uther and Queen Igraine, but at the time, England was in danger and Merlin the magician took baby Arthur to be raised in the country by a foster father, Sir Ector…"

The familiar story was easy to tell, and both of them were eager listeners for a while. While Elizabeth dozed against me and Annie began to yawn, I lost myself in the familiar worlds.

"Anne, my love…"

I gasped and jumped and barely kept Annie from tumbling to the floor. I clutched her with one arm and pulled my daughter a little closer. Yes, I had been expecting Henry's visit for several days, I had also expected some time to prepare—some announcement that he had arrived. Now he stood barely a foot from me. My heart thudded in my breast, and I had the feeling that my niece and I wore identical wide-eyed stares.

"Papa!" Elizabeth had stirred and pushed my arm away so that she could run to him. When Henry did not open his arms to pick her up, she settled on wrapping her arms tightly around his dusty boots.

Annie was still gaping at him. She must not have seen him at court and must not have thought he looked much like the King of England. Small wonder, really—Henry, who had knelt down to hug Elizabeth, had dark circles under his eyes (he deserved them, I thought). His hair was wind-swept, his black cloak travel-worn, his attire simple and dark. The only thing that hinted at his position was his great star sapphire ring. Seeing him there with his arms around my daughter, I could not hate him. Yet I had no idea what to say.

I had to say something, if only for the children's sake. "This is your uncle Henry," I murmured close to Annie's ear. "Why don't you say hello?" She nodded silently, clutching my hand with all her might as we both got to our feet.

As soon as Henry stood up again, his hand resting on her golden hair, Annie dipped into the curtsy she'd been forced to practice for days. I barely bent my knees, going just low enough so that she could keep her grasp on my hand, and kept my head perfectly still. "Your Majethty," Annie lisped quietly. Her little cheeks burned pink. Henry smiled at her. "You must be Annie." Her only answer was another mute nod. When Mary appeared in the doorway, she made a dash for her, hiding her face in her skirts just like she when she arrived at Hatfield. My sister clucked her tongue, curtsied prettily for Henry and greeted him with perfect civility, then held out her hand for Elizabeth to take. She pouted but let go of Henry's knees anyway. Had Mary discussed this with her before now? Before I could even send her a questioning look, she led the girls away, leaving us alone.

Henry took one step forward. I bit my lip, willing myself not to move. Though it had been under the guise of pleasing our daughter, _I _had issued him the invitation. He had received it. Now he was here. His presence hardly pleased me, but he was here and I could not simply send him away. Not only because he was the King. I simply couldn't.

The tension built with each breath we took. I realized that, without a quill and parchment before him, Henry was as lost for words as I. It unnerved me to see that in a man who always had something to say, be it romantic or angry or commanding.

Desperately, I sought for something bearable for both of us and, as always, settled on Elizabeth. "Children are so remarkable. She has already forgotten," I observed weakly.

"What…what did she think?" On one hand, the guilt in his voice pleased me. On the other, it made me feel guilty myself. It was Henry trying to move past this and me throwing obstacles in his path—_although he was not the one to face execution, _my mind chastised. _You have nothing to feel guilty for. He should know what he did to her…to both of you._

"She was afraid. She didn't understand why you were so angry and why you were yelling, or why you would not turn around when I was calling for you." My voice wavered but I pressed on. "She thought she had done something. I…I tried to comfort her, but I was so afraid—and then I didn't see her again before…" _Before I was arrested. I never said good-bye to her. _"But clearly she has forgiven you now."

His eyes bored into me as though he could will me to forget as well. "Elizabeth may have forgiven me…you wish I was not even here," he muttered.

Why did he sound so surprised? What had I told him before Elizabeth and I left Whitehall? I could not ignore what he had done to me or to Mark and George and the others. I had gone over the reasons in my mind so many times since then that I was tired of them. Besides, Mary had convinced me to give him a chance—my daughter adored him, and I had once. England deserved a stronger King than Henry had been over the past ten years. They needed a King whose marriage and heir were uncontested. I hadn't given him that yet, but if I had more time, I could.

"Henry, that isn't true," I protested so softly that I barely heard my own words.

I took a tentative step forward. "You shouldn't have believed them—Brandon or Cromwell or the Seymours. You should have trusted me, Henry. You waited _seven years_ for me, but after we fought so hard for the new church and for our Elizabeth…and for our other children, in the future, you decided that it was not worth fighting for. I know that I am not—not Katherine—and that I am not a proper wife. Lady Jane may have turned her empty little head and ignored the other women in your life, but if she really loved you, how could she bear it?" As I spoke, my voice grew stronger. This was what I needed to say and what he needed to hear. "I told you that I loved you too much to watch you love others. I know I am selfish, but I want my love to be enough for you, forever." I seized Henry's hands as if I was reclaiming him—perhaps I was. The contact shocked us both.

Panic rose like bile in my throat. My treacherous heart still loved Henry but my mind did not trust him yet. I put a little more distance between us and dropped his hands. There was one more thing I wanted to say. "I will return to London," I said slowly, "and though no boy could ever be as remarkable as the girl we already have, I _will _bear you a son—but not yet. I will not remarry you and revisit your bed until you prove to me that I can trust you. Promise me you will take no more mistresses." Henry grimaced slightly.

Taking a deep breath, I added, "If you cannot, or if you are unwilling to make that sacrifice, marry your Lady Jane—but know that she will never love you as I do."

He bristled a little at that, no doubt wanting to protest that I did not know Jane Seymour and that if I did, I would not be so quick to call her false. The look I gave him in return must have been enough to silence those words. Besides, he had already made _that_ sacrifice—he had written to me saying that Lady Jane had been sent back to her father's home.

Could he make another one, a larger one?

"I—," he faltered. I wondered if he understood the scale of this promise. "I will try, Anne."

_No, you must do more than try! _I wanted to scream it at him. He had not even attempted to stay faithful to me the first time around after he had seen another princess in my arms instead of his longed-for Prince of Wales. Something kept me from being so rash. Although my temper had cost me dearly in the past. I did not think I or anyone else deserved to die for my faults, I could not pretend that I was free of them any more than Henry was. "Then I will try to forgive you and…I will try to be a better wife to you."

The words may have cost me a little of my pride, but I owed it to my brother to say them. He had begged me to act more like a Queen was expected to, and he had been right in the end. It was too late to save him, not too late to listen to him.

The hardness in Henry's eyes brought on by the mention of Lady Jane vanished. "No, sweetheart. I did not know before, but I know now—you are the only wife I want. You are the best wife you can be to me. A less willful, stubborn woman—" _I am not as stubborn as Katherine! _I thought indignantly. "Anne, you are the only wife I want. You are the only wife for me. Come back to Whitehall—come home."

Despite myself, I smiled and felt the deep rift between us begin to heal. The road that lay ahead of us was long, perhaps unbearably so…but if his words were true, it was possibly we could find the end of it together.


	4. Update

**Author's Note****/****Update**

So, I know Author's Notes don't count as chapters, but I'm afraid I have no real good ideas for this story. I feel as though it's not written as well as my other Tudor stories, and that it's a bit redundant considering some of the newer things I've written. First person is also really challenging, even intimidating. I'm considering taking it down or at least ending it here.

Sorry about that. I know people enjoyed this story while it lasted, and I hope you'll read my others. =)


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